


Soft

by rosewaterivy



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 02:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15475632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosewaterivy/pseuds/rosewaterivy
Summary: Keith had never been particularly soft. But for Lance, he thought he might want to be.





	Soft

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! :) This is my first klance fic, and I was inspired by an incredible friend of mine to get back into the writing game after many years on hiatus.  
> I love these precious boys, and I just want to take all their pain awayyyyyy
> 
> This work is un beta-ed, so please excuse any errors or funky bits. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think. :)

Keith Kogane had never been particularly soft. Growing up, he’d learned that softness was not a luxury he was allowed. Back at the home, more times than he could count, he took the coldest spot on the dusty floor at night when there weren’t enough beds to go around. Gentle touches were an exotic notion to him, but he knew the exact weight of a boney fist against his jaw all too intimately. The following reprimand’s sharp sting was a second blow.

Maybe he was damaged. He knew that he had some pretty high walls up, and he knew that it cost him at times. Friendships. Trust. Happiness. Things he tried to convince himself that were unnecessary. He told himself, as if by rote, that he didn’t need things like that when he was doing just fine on his own. As long as he didn’t need anybody, it was only natural that nobody needed him in return.

Love, comfort, security—all soft and luxurious aspirations that seemed to be just beyond Keith’s reach. What he didn’t admit out loud was that he was scared he didn’t deserve them. He wasn’t scared to never have those things in the first place if it meant he never had to give them up again.

Things got better after Shiro found Keith and pushed him into the Garrison. His safeguarded walls remained fixed, but he finally had someone to challenge him. A focus, a direction, a goal…such small mercies, but they were his for the first time. Shiro was kind, but firm. A solid weight behind a guiding hand to steer him back on course whenever he strayed.

Even now, years later, Keith wouldn’t consider himself soft. He was different in so many ways from the young, volatile orphan of his childhood. Things were drastically different now. Several star systems away from Earth, he was part of something much larger than himself. As a paladin of Voltron and a member of the secretive Blade of Marmora, Keith knew that his place in the fight against the Galra Empire was important. Much like when he joined the Garrison, he had a goal to work towards, and he couldn’t stand idly by. Not when he had something constant and durable enough to hold on to.

The difference now was that he wasn’t alone. Galaxies away, Keith had found a home with Voltron like he never had on Earth. He’d grown to trust his comrades, and he was learning to trust himself one day at a time. Fractured time among the stars stitched together an invaluable fabric of belonging that covered him head to toe in gold-gilded thread.

He wasn’t sure he deserved these things, still, but he wanted them desperately for the first time.

Shiro was back ( _his_ Shiro), snow white hair illuminating an indestructible, vibrant _life_ in his eyes. Death was indiscriminate in its reaping, but it couldn’t take much from Takashi Shirogane. Keith felt a small, warm stone settle into the pit of his stomach at having his brother at his side. Whole. Alive. Firm, as always.

He, himself, was still uncertain of his place among the team now that their leader was back, but for the moment he didn’t care. He was content to breathe easily with everyone for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

The air had finally begun to still around the castle, but Keith couldn’t shake the feeling that not all was as it should be among the others. He considered the notion that his nerves, curated in life and through intense training, were simply attuned to oversensitivity. It was always run, fight, hide, _danger_ , _danger_ , _danger_. Things had been calm for some days since Shiro’s return; Keith was supposed to feel at ease, wasn’t he? Perhaps he’d forgotten how to step without hackles raised.

Unable to settle the itch under his skin and restless with unspent energy, Keith took it upon himself to wander the castle. He could make himself useful by checking for any failed systems or damages incurred in the last fight with the Galra. It also was a good chance to refamiliarize himself with the sprawling halls and quiet hum of elegant Altean tech that he’d come to associate as his home.

His legs seemed to know where to take him while his mind wandered, running his hand along a few panels in the walls fondly. Before long, he’d made it to the hanger where the lions stood resting, glistening and raw in the bright overhead lighting. Breathlessly, Keith moved to stand in front of Black. Everything about the lions was magnificent. He felt inexplicably small before the hard, metal claws as Black towered over him. He’d flown this lion into the depths of space, trusting in their forged connection and tethered by magnetized hope. Even so, he felt insignificant as he stared into the dull, lackluster sheen of the lion’s eyes, normally a piercing yellow in the heat of battle.

Clenching and unclenching his fists for a few moments, Keith let the weight of the universe settle onto his shoulders for the barest of moments. He was glad Shiro was back. Not just because he loved his brother, because he did, but also because Shiro could finally retake his place as leader of Voltron. Keith had done what was needed in his brother’s absence, but he couldn’t fool himself into believing he was the leader the universe needed. He’d squeaked by with singed ends and reeking of one too many smoldering close calls.

Keith’s mouth turned down into a grimace as a familiar guilt pierced through his lungs like shards of ice. He’d never meant to put the team in trouble…he’d always been reckless. He was used to weathering storms alone; caustic words and careful distance made for great shelter from the elements. He’d had little practice, or reason, to protect anyone else. He wasn’t a great leader like Shiro. Even his best hadn’t felt like enough.

Before he could allow his thoughts, loathsome and treacherous, to turn further inward, he was startled by a quiet sob from the other side of the hanger. Curiously, Keith directed his feet in the direction of the sound. He hadn’t noticed at first, lost in his thoughts, but it was hard to miss the shaggy head of brown hair near Red’s hind leg as Keith approached. He nearly called out to his teammate until he caught the gentle shaking of shoulders. Lance was hunched over, practically doubled over himself, and his face was hidden behind the long tangle of his arms resting atop his jean-clad knees. He was still all over but for the unsteady rise and fall of his shoulders, and his labored breathing sounded strung wire-tight.

Feeling off-balance, Keith tried to clear his throat as softly as possible. “Lance?”

He’d tried to avoid startling him, but Lance’s head shot up quick as a bullet at the sound of his voice anyway. A different, slower guilt replaced the brush fire that was Keith’s selfish agitation from moments ago at the horrified expression on the other boy’s face.

“Oh! Hey, uh…Keith!” His voice was a grating of slate, thick and hoarse. He sounded like he hadn’t used his voice in a while, and Keith realized he couldn’t remember the last time Lance had talked to anyone much since Shiro’s return. Keith’s gut twisted uncomfortably. He felt like he was forgetting something important: a tender constant in his life he hadn’t realized he’d taken for granted. “What are you doing here?”

“Came to see Black,” Keith shrugged, resting his hands low on his hips because he didn’t know what else to do with them. “and I thought I’d check out the hanger for any damage.”

He noticed Lance’s strenuous efforts to swallow his uneven breaths, a sort of frenzied look in his eyes as he blinked too quickly to be normal.

“I didn’t even hear ya come in! I’m supposed to be the ninja here, but you’re pretty quiet for—”

“Lance,” Keith interrupted quietly. With the way Lance’s jaw snapped shut and his eyes dropped to the ground briefly, you’d think Keith had yelled instead. “Are you okay?”

The question bounced off the spotless white cavern, ringing in his ears. A small flush overtook Lance’s neck, and Keith watched in stunned curiosity as it traveled up further to his ears. Still, he flashed a brilliant, easy smile at Keith from his position against Red, his eyes bright. There was a tightness around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth that Keith had never noticed before, though.

“Totally fine, mullet! Why wouldn’t I be? We got Shiro back, so—”

“I heard you died.”

There was a sharp intake of air, and Keith watched as the smile dropped from Lance’s face and his eyes grew round and wet.

“Only for, like, a minute,” he breathed out, his voice sounding thin, “and Allura brought me back.” Lance didn’t seem to realize that his knuckles were white where he gripped the material of his jeans covering his shins. “It was nothing. I’m fi…” A quaking shudder seemed to choke the breath from Lance before he could finish, and a high, broken sound took its place.

Keith was on his knees in an instant, all alarm systems red and ringing between his ears. He’d never seen Lance like this before, and he didn’t know what to do for him. Uncertain, yet determined, Keith grabbed the shoulder nearest to him in a firm grip, like Shiro might have done. Keith had never been soft. He didn’t even know if he knew how to be soft. But in this moment, reaching out to the shaking boy, he wanted to try.

A soft whine escaped Lance when Keith touched him, but he didn’t seem capable of much else at the moment. His head was buried behind his arms once more, but it didn’t seem like he was getting enough oxygen. Throwing caution to the wind, Keith pried Lance’s arms away and down to his sides. As gently as he could, he grabbed both sides of Lance’s face and lifted it. He could feel the wet tracks on his cheeks as he held them, securely hooking his pinkies underneath Lance’s jaw. The skin was warm and flushed beneath his fingertips, but he was immediately struck by the vast blue of Lance’s eyes.

They were beautiful, really. Deep like an ocean, and wilder. Even the tears cresting his puffy eyelids were crystalline and untamable, overtaking the tan shoreline. Keith wasn’t sure Lance could see him clearly, and he was grateful just then; he’d never stared so openly at him before, and he couldn’t drag himself away from those eyes.

“Lance, breathe,” he pleaded urgently, “You’re okay, but you have to breathe with me.” Unconsciously, Keith’s thumbs rubbed the wetness from his cheeks, trying to get Lance to focus.

It seemed to help a little. He seemed a little more present now, but it was unclear if he could understand Keith around his heavy heartbeat. Keith could feel it pulsing rapidly beneath his jaw. Instead, he decided to take one of Lance’s clammy hands and press it over his own chest. He made sure Lance could feel the slow and even breath filling his ribcage before being released again, trying to get Lance to copy him. He was sure Lance could also feel the steady thrum of his heart beneath his hand, and his cheeks felt a little warm as they continued to breathe together.

His knees were starting to ache by the time Lance’s breaths started evening out. He was still shaking, but it seemed to be the adrenaline leaving his body rather than the clamorous resurgence of panic. Lance’s fingers had fisted the material of Keith’s shirt at some point, but he didn’t seem willing to let go just yet. After many gulps of fresh air, he seemed to sag against the weight of something much heavier than anything Keith could see. The air was spent and stale around them, and Keith took a few steadying breaths before he could speak evenly again.

“Lance?”

At the sound of his name, Lance seemed to come back to himself somewhat, lifting his head and peering up at Keith through damp strands of brown bangs. His lashes still looked wet, but at least he wasn’t openly crying anymore. Keith’s fingers tingled terribly, and he had to physically stop himself from softly wiping the lingering wetness around the other’s eyes.

Lance’s lips had dried out during his panic, and he had to wet his lips before speaking. Keith couldn’t stop his eyes from following the slow drag of his tongue over them. His breath caught, and the itch in his fingers was back.

“Sorry,” Lance croaked, his shoulders still low and heavy with whatever burden had settled there.

Something hot and tight clawed at him from within his chest, and he was momentarily stunned by the force of it. Keith’s brow furrowed in a simmering outrage. “Don’t.”

Lance looked startled by the clipped tone in his voice. His blue, blue eyes were wide again. He still hadn’t let go of Keith’s shirt.

“Don’t apologize for something like that.”

He didn’t want Lance to apologize for crying. He didn’t want Lance to cry by himself and hide it from the rest of them. He didn’t want Lance to be hurting. Strong Lance, kind Lance, beautiful Lance…

_Soft_ Lance.

Ignoring the small tremor in his hand, Keith reached down to pry Lance’s fist from his chest. He closed his eyes and raised the long fingers to his lips. His face felt hot, and he prayed that Lance wouldn’t notice. Softly, ever so softly, he kissed the knuckles one by one. He couldn’t open his eyes to see what Lance’s reaction was because he wasn’t confident he wasn’t doing something wrong.

Keith had never been particularly soft, but, for Lance, he thought he might want to be.


End file.
